The midnight air off the Ironwood pass was bone-chilling, biting into skin like needle points. Snow fell in thick, silent curtains, blanketed over the jagged black granite of Outpost Seven.
Jaxson crouched in the high pine brush fifty yards from the perimeter fence, his breathing slow and even. Beside him,Kaelen and six Fringe warriors settled into the shadows like ghosts. Down in the valley, the outpost looked deceivingly mundane: a cluster of concrete bunkers, a rusting weather tower, and low perimeter lights yellowed by the storm.
Jaxson pulled his collar up, adjusting his grip on the heavy steel pry-bar strapped to his pack. "No shift till we're inside," he whispered, his voice disappearing into the wind. "They have thermal sensors on the outer perimeter set for wolf signatures. We go in on two legs."
Kaelen gave a single nod, her ash-painted face grim. "If the locks are security-grade, we have three minutes before the signal hits the Council main garrison."
"Then we move fast," Jaxson said.
They moved across the open snowbank in a low run, keeping below the light cones of the perimeter towers. Within seconds, Jaxson was at the rear access hatch, built into the base of the mountain face. He shoved the steel bar into the heavy seam of the reinforced door, muscles straining in his shoulders as he leaned his full weight into it. With a dull crackof sheared bolts, the heavy hatch popped open, spilling faint, fluorescent white light onto the snow.
They slipped inside one by one, sealing the hatch behind them.
The transition from the wild mountain air to the subterranean facility was jarring. The air inside smelled of bleach, ozone,and copper—the unmistakable tang of dried blood. Steel pipes ran overhead, hummed with high-voltage current, leading down a long, narrow concrete shaft that dropped deep into the mountain.
"Level one cleared," Kaelen muttered, her eyes scanning the empty corridor. "Where are the guards?"
Jaxson frowned, his instincts flaring. "Too quiet."
They descended the iron staircase, their boots ringing softly against the metal. Level two was lined with darkened observation rooms and shatterproof glass panels. Inside lay discarded restraint straps, empty IV bags, and medical monitors displaying flatlines.
Then came a sound from the end of the hall—a sharp, mechanical clack of a tactical rifle safety being disengaged.
Jaxson lunged sideways, tackling Kaelen behind a heavy steel pillar just as a barrage of silenced gunfire chewed through the concrete wall where they had been standing. Dust and glass rained down in the hallway.
"Hold!" a voice barked through the settling dust.
Jaxson froze. He knew that voice.
Stepping out from the far doorway, flanked by four Council wardens in full black body armor, was Marcus. His face was pale under the flickering fluorescent tubes, his eyes dark with exhaustion. He didn't have his weapon raised at Jaxson, but his men had their carbines trained dead center on the pillar.
"You shouldn't have come here, Jax," Marcus said softly, his voice echoing in the sterile hallway.
Kaelen shifted behind the pillar, her hand sliding toward her hatchet, but Jaxson put out a flat hand to stop her. He stepped out into the open hallway, standing tall, his hands visible.
"You beat me here," Jaxson said quietly. "Are you going to execute me now, Marcus? Or are you going to show me what's behind door three?"
Marcus’s jaw worked silently. He turned his head toward the reinforced blast door at the very back of the hall—the entrance to Level Three.
"The Council sent me to purge the facility," Marcus said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They knew you had the ledger. They knew you'd come here first. My orders were to burn the medical logs and clear the cells before you arrived."
"And did you?" Jaxson asked, taking a slow step forward. "Did you burn them?"
Marcus hesitated. Slowly, he reached into his tactical vest, pulled out a heavy keycard, and swiped it through the reader beside the blast door. The massive steel doors hissed, heavy hydraulic seals releasing as they slid open into the dark.
Inside, row upon row of glass containment cylinders lined the cavernous chamber. Suspended in amber fluid were people some pale and motionless, others breathing weakly through oxygen masks. Attached to each tank was a brass plaque stamped with a family name.
Shadow Ridge.Crestfall.Vance.
Kaelen let out a choked sound, stepping out from behind the pillar. One of the young men in the nearest tank bore the distinct silver-streaked hair of her own clan.
Jaxson looked at Marcus. The lead tracker’s face was completely drained of color, his hands trembling slightly as he stared at the horror he had been sent to cover up.
"They told us it was a medical facility for war veterans, Jax," Marcus croaked, his composure cracking. "They told us...they were saving lives."
"They're harvesting them," Jaxson said, his voice hard as flint. "They've been doing it for eighty years. And Toby was next."
Marcus looked down at the keycard in his hand, then up at Jaxson. The silence between the two former brothers was heavy, loaded with years of shared history and broken trust.
"The main Council strike team is ten minutes behind me," Marcus said, his voice dropping low. "They aren't coming to secure the facility. They're coming to drop the mountain on it."
Jaxson stepped toward Marcus, extending his hand. "Then help us get them out."
Marcus stared at Jaxson’s open hand for a long moment. Then, with a slow exhale, he turned to his tactical unit. "Stand down your weapons. Get the override codes for the tanks. We have five minutes to move thirty people."